


Honey

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Things, Bad Puns, Castiel and Bees, Customer Service & Tech Support, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Socially Awkward Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Castiel stares. </p><p>"Oh, really," he says. "I'm just that desirable." </p><p>Dean starts, and then begins to laugh.' </p><p> </p><p>Five times Castiel received a bee-related gift, and one he gave in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

_1._

It starts off small - so small that Castiel assumes it's a mistake.

"Hello, this is Singer consolidated. How may I help you?"

The supposed mistake in question is a pen. It's yellow and black, and has honeybee wings on its sides.

" _Okay,"_ the man on the line says, _"you can help me with this. I'm looking for my money. How about that? You listening?"_

It's clickable.

_"I'm sick to the back teeth with you people. Sick. To the back. Teeth."_

Castiel picks it up, and stares at it.

"Please hold," he says. "Dean? Has anybody reported a pen missing, today?"

Dean's head pokes up. He snaps the book shut, and shoves it back beneath his chair. He's been reading it for the past half hour. It has an asteroid on the front.

He shakes his head, whilst saying: "Sorry, ma'am, but I don't think your pet's welfare is entirely our concern. We deal in appliances, not insurance."

Dean's book is about planets. Castiel hasn't read it, but he's seen the blurb. He's intimate with it.

The writing on the back of the book is grey.

Castiel blinks. "Sorry for the delay," the says, into the phone.

_"Yeah, you damn well should be!"_

When Dean reads, his eyebrows crinkle. He exhales, sharply, on every fresh page. Sometimes, he nibbles on his lip.

_"This company's a sham! I've been trying with this for six months. Six! And what do I get? An apology brochure, and a box of scraps! What am I gonna do with that, huh?"_

"You should keep it," Dean mouths. Alternatively, it could be you-shu-sheep-it. Somehow, Castiel doesn't think so.

_"You're all a bunch of jack-asses! You don't think about any of us, huh? We're just numbers to you, right? Is that it?"_

"I can assure you, sir, that-"

_"You can assure my ass! I want my fifty dollars!"_

Castiel shakes his head. This is a question of morality, after all.

"I'm going to hand it in," he mouths.

_"I bet this call means nothing to you! I bet none of your customers do! Six months, I've been trying! Six! I could've printed my own faster!"_

"That would be illegal, sir."

_"You - I know that! It was-"_

Dean looks blank.

_"You know what? Sense of humour bypass. Should've known."_

Castiel tries again.

_"I'd get better customer service out of a potted plant. At least it'd be pretty to look at!"_

Still nothing.

"Mm. Mm hm," Dean says. "Thank you."

"I'm going to hand it in," Castiel hiss-whispers.

_"You're gonna hand what in? Hey! Answer me!"_

"Why?" Dean hiss-whispers back. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, I wasn't speaking to-"

"Because it isn't mine."

_"You can quit with that, Mr I'm-So-Useful! Cut the attitude!"_

"Miss-" Dean holds the phone away from his ear. A stream of what appear to be curse words sound out of it. "Tell you what. Why don't you go out for lunch, and then call me back? I'll look into it for you. I promise."

"Sir," Castiel says, "I will contact administration, and then I will return to you. Please hold."

Castiel puts the phone away from his ear, and then clicks the button.

"Charlie," he says. "I've got a ranter on the refunds side. Can I put him through to you?"

On the other end of the line, there's a sigh.

"Save me the best, why don't you, Casanova?" 

"That's not my name," Castiel says.

Charlie giggles.

Castiel picks up the phone.

_"-hold, my-"_

"Your time is valuable to us, and we are sorry for any delay. Thank you."

"Hey, hang on a-"

Castiel sits back, and breathes in. Out. In.

The phone begins to ring.

 

It is 16:58, and it is two minutes away from the end of Castiel's shift.

In the partition opposite him, Charlie is humming. Loudly. 

The man on the other end of the line is crying.

He has been crying for two minutes, now. Maybe more.

His nose is red, somewhere in the world. Somewhere in the world, he is snottering.

_"And how am I gonna make it now, huh? My goddamn machine won't work, and - and- "_

The man's voice breaks.

"I can send you a replacement," Castiel says, "but - I doubt that would - okay. Okay. This is what you're going to do. You're not going to make bread. You're going to make pasta. You're going to go to the store, and buy it, and boil the water, and it's going to be fine. Carbohydrates are carbohydrates are carbohydrates. And if you still need that replacement, then you can call me back."

There is a snuffle. _"You think it'll work?"_

"I know so," Castiel says. "She's going to love it."

_"I'm so sorry - I'm so sorry about this, I just - I wanted to get it right, you know?"_

"Your time is valuable to us, and we are sorry for any delay. Thank you."

_"No - no, thank you, man. I couldn't - I wouldn't-"_

The man blows his nose.

"Good afternoon," Castiel says, and puts down the phone.

Dean stretches up his hand, and punches the air.

"Another day down-"

"Forty seven to go until Christmas," Castiel says. "I'm aware, Dean."

Dean swallows, once. He leans back, cat-like. "Speaking of Christmas - I see _you've_ received something?"

Unclipping his headpiece, Castiel disentangles himself from the phone.

"Somebody must have left it here by accident. I'm sure they'll return to claim it. In the meantime, I'll take care of it for them. They won't mind overmuch."

"Well," Dean slowly, "maybe - and I'm going for a stab in the dark, here - it was a present?"

Castiel blinks, again.

"Why would anyone give me a gift?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe because they liked you. Maybe because they wanted to get to know you better. Maybe-"

"I'm going to take a day off, on Monday," Castiel says.

Dean stops; he then whistles. "Good for you! Escape the slog, huh? Can't say I blame you."

Dean flexes his fingers, and smiles. His teeth shine.

Castiel looks down.

Once in. Once out.

"Yes."

He knows that he is blushing. He can feel the heat, on the back of his neck. He is turning red. His cheeks are glowing. He knows it.

"Any particular reason for that? Got sick of my company? 'Cause I have to say, it wouldn't be the first time."

Castiel swallows.

Dean is watching him. He has seventeen freckles, on the bridge of his nose. He has another on the inside of his arm. It's beside a mole.

"Hello? Earth to Cas? You still in there?"

He could tell Dean that he is going to visit his brother. It would be an easy thing to say. He could tell Dean that he is going to have dinner. It would be an easy thing to say.

He could tell Dean that he does not particularly enjoy having dinner with his brother, because Gabriel always orders the dessert course first, and that confuses the waiters. He could tell Dean about the first time Gabriel's boyfriend found out, and how he asked for a strawberry cheesecake to share for a starter.

"No," he says.

Dean laughs.

 

At 17:03, Castiel packs up his bag. The bag is black, and has yellow straps. It's a rucksack, and it's seven years old.

He picks it up, and puts it on.

The beanie comes down over his ears. It makes everything muffled.

Dean looks up from his computer, waves him goodbye.

"Bye," he says. "See you tomorrow."

Castiel turns around, and walks away.

Once in, and once out, and once in, and once out, and he's by the doors, and he's pushing them open, and he's on the street.

Behind him, Dean is sitting in his cubicle, with the partition door open, and he is packing up his briefcase, and he is wearing his suit, and his brogues, and his tie, and he is looking like he just stepped out of a male model magazine.

Castiel takes seventeen steps down the street before his breathing returns to normal.

 

_2._

The second time, it's a mug.

It's yellow. It's a bee, again. It has eyes. It's staring at him.

It's got a sticker on the side. It peels off easily.

Bee-autiful, it says. Bee mine?

It has been printed on, from a computer.

Castiel crumples up the tag, in his fist.

His pulse rate has increased. His palms are sweating. He can taste bile.

He closes his eyes, and breathes. Once in. Once out. Once in.

Bee-autiful. Bee mine?

His stomach churns.

"I'm fine," Castiel says.

Once in. Once out.

"Hello, this is Singer consolidated. How may I help you?"

_"Err - hi. Um. I'm looking for instructions, please? My toaster, it - it won't - switch, um, on. Err. Sorry?"_

"Please hold," Castiel says. Peering at the computer, he grabs hold of the mouse.

Dean doesn't ask again.

 

The sticker goes in the bin.

The mug follows soon after.

 

When Castiel arrives at home, he runs himself a nice, hot bath.

There is one new message, on the landline. Castiel draws up a chair, and stretches out the connector cable.

"Hey, Cassy," Gabriel says. "Just making sure we're still on for Monday. I know you're probably sighing right about now - yeah, okay, don't roll your eyes, either - okay, okay, yeah, I'm getting there. I'm going. So - Sam, I told you - I said - Sam, not when I'm on the - jeez, Sammy, phone! Phone, phone, ph - okay, so, goodbyeI'llseeyousoonCasSamSamheedonnn't-"

The line goes dead.

Castiel holds it to his head, for a couple of seconds more.

 

The bath is hot, and bubbly. Castiel soaks in it. He rests his head against the rim, and stares at the ceiling. There's a mould stain, in the top right-hand corner.

Castiel considers kissing Dean.

He considers putting his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean would be wearing his suit - the grey one - and his green tie, the tie that matches his eyes. He'd have his sleeves rolled up. He'd have red cheeks, just like Castiel would.

Dean would lick his lips, once. His pupils would be dilated. His eyes would be almost black. He'd lean closer. He would be breathing quickly. He would be distracted. Castiel would be distracted.

The world around them would be narrowed into a tunnel of red and pink light. There would be music playing, somewhere in the background - possibly something with harps. Dean's mouth would be plush. Time would slow down. Time would crawl. Time would inch to a stop.

Dean would put his hands around Castiel's face, and kiss him. He would kiss him second by second, millimetre by millimetre. He would map his lips, and his shoulders, and the hollows of his chest.

The phone line would be looped around his wrist. They would stumble backwards, into the table. Castiel would know what to do. He would know how to act. He would not be worried about the way his breath smelled, because it would be minty. He would be prepared.

The water has grown cold.

 

_3._

The next morning, it is a card.

_"Yeah, dude, I'm - grateful. Thank you."_

"Pleased to be of assistance," Castiel says.

What he does not say is that all of the instructions are on a sheet before him, and that the sheet is digital, and that the sheet is white, and that the sheet is making his eyes hurt. It would be easy to say all of that. Simple.

Dean's cheeks are dusted with pink. "Singer consolidated," he says, mouthpiece scraping his chin. "How may I help you?"

The card is on top of a sandwich. It's yellow. Unsurprisingly.

"Your time is valuable to us, and we are sorry for any-"

The man hangs up.

"Delay," Castiel finishes. "Singer consolidated. How may I help you?"

 _Hey,_ the card reads. _Your hive or mine?_

It's all so ridiculous, Castiel can't help but laugh.

"Please hold," Dean says. "Hey. What's wrong?"

Castiel shakes his head. He draws in a breath.

"Please hold. Nothing," he says. "Just-"

He waves a hand. Reaching down, he picks up the card.

"Someone's been playing a joke on me," he says.

Dean's wearing his grey suit, today, with a red tie. The sleeves are all the way up to his elbows, and his jacket's over the back of his chair.

"What? A joke - you think-"

Dean seems to run out of words. He sputters. His mouth opens, and shuts, and opens. His lips are bitten red.

Castiel's eyes narrow.

"Yes," he says.

"Why do you - err - how do you figure? I mean, there could be someone who likes you. Hypothetically. In the department. Someone."

Dean clears his throat.

Castiel stares.

"Oh, really," he says. "I'm just that desirable."

Dean starts, and then begins to laugh. He bends double, and puts his hands on his legs, and laughs.

When he laughs - really laughs - his eyes crinkle up.

And Castiel wants to kiss him. He wants to _more_ than kiss him.

"What?" he says.

"Nothin'," Dean replies. "Just-"

Castiel's phone rings. His headpiece buzzes.

"Crap," Dean says.

 

On Monday afternoon, Castiel goes out to dinner. Or, to put it more precisely, lunch. He uses the one day of holiday he has left. He does not go into work.

Dean would probably say that he looks smooth. Dean would probably say that he looks real cool, Cas.

Dean would not say that he looks handsome. Dean would not say that he looks divine.

Dean would not say that he looks perfect.

Castiel does not wear a suit.

 

As per usual, Gabriel and Sam are sickening.

They hold hands on top of the table, instead of underneath.

From the way Sam's looking, Gabriel's other hand is engaged in some pretty interesting activities.

Sam is wearing a suit. Gabriel isn't. He's wearing a black t-shirt, with grey writing on the front. The lettering spells _HEAVY METAL_. The word _METAL_ has a slash across it.

"So," Sam says. "Err."

"Gabriel," Castiel says, "please let him be."

Gabriel grins. It makes his dimples stand out.

"No can do, sweetheart," he chuckles, sounding more like a manic clown that anything approaching respectability, "have you seen this lump?" 

"Have you ever met my brother?" Sam says. 

Castiel shakes his head. "No. We haven't been introduced."

Sam nods. "Pity," he says. "I think you'd get along."

"I suppose so," Castiel says.

He does not know what his hair looks like. He reaches up a hand, and combs his fingers through it. That probably makes it stand up straighter. He might have tomato sauce on his upper lip.

Gabriel and Sam are halfway through a lemon meringue tart. Gabriel lifts up his spoon, and Sam opens his mouth. He's laughing, cheeks flushed.

The restaurant is very full, today.

 

Castiel goes to the bathroom.

He does not need the bathroom.

He stands in front of the mirror, and looks at himself.

He does not have tomato sauce on his upper lip. He does not have somebody else's palm prints on his leg. He does not have a hand to hold beneath the table.

It's ridiculous. It's pointless. It's stupid.

"This is very, very stupid," Castiel says. Tells himself. Tells the mirror.

He stands in front of the mirror, and looks at himself.

He does not need the bathroom.

He is in the bathroom.

"What am I doing here?" Castiel asks. Asks himself. Asks the mirror.

"Beats me, son," the man beside him says. "Now can you move outta the way? I gotta go, and the other urinal looks like Hell warmed up."

The man has a beard, and wears a cap over his eyes. He's tall, and stocky.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Castiel does not know why he is speaking. He supposes there must be a reason for it.

The man blinks, once. "Yeah," he says. "Why?"

"What does it feel like?"

Once in. Once out.

The man laughs.

"Like there's a sledgehammer stuck in your chest," he says, "and it won't goddamn come out."

Castiel nods.

"There are forty four days until Christmas," he says.

"That so?"

The man unzips his trousers. Castiel is leaning against the wall. He averts his gaze.

"What do you do if you're in love with someone, but they don't love you back?"

The man steps away. He grunts. "Suck it up. Find someone else."

"I don't think I can," Castiel says.

"Well, either that, or pine away. Your choice." The man walks towards the door, and slaps his shoulder. "You get to pick. Word of advice, kid?"

"Yes?"

The man smirks.

"Don't ask strangers what they think about love."

 

_4._

_Honeybee good,_ the card reads. It's not yellow. It's white. It has a picture of a flower on it, which is yellow. It is bellow the slogan.

"Singer consolidated. How may I help you?"

_"Hey! I remember you!"_

Castiel supposes that it counts.

"Yes," Castiel says. "I'm still here."

Dean doesn't seem inclined to disagree.

_"I want my goddamned refund!"_

The computer blinks at him, slowly.

"Please hold," Castiel says.

 

Castiel doesn't throw the card away.

Instead, he opens his drawer, and takes out a pair of scissors.

"Woah, woah, woah! What are you doin'?" Dean's got his hands outstretched. He looks as though a bomb is about to go off.

"I'm cutting out the picture," he says, as slowly as he can.

"Ain't you gonna read the message?"

Castiel squints. At least, he assumes he does.

"Yes," he says. "After I've cut out the picture."

"Why are you cuttin' out the picture?"

"Because I want to keep it."

"Why do you want to keep it?"

"Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"Maybe because I'm interested."

"Why are you interested?"

"I don't know!"

"You should know. You're the one who's interested."

"Just the read the damn thing!"

Castiel sighs. "Alright," he says, "although why you'd be so emotionally invested, I can't see."

The letters are round. The message has been pasted in.

"My queen may be a drag," Castiel reads aloud, "but you sure aren't."

Dean appears to be having a coughing fit.

"Hello, this is Singer Consolidated," he gets out, past it. "Sorry. How may I help you?"

 

Gabriel calls him.

It is not on the landline. It is on his mobile.

Castiel is halfway through his sandwich, and is peeling off his second crust.

The work phone rings. Castiel ignores it.

"Sam doesn't want to see me," Gabriel says. He sounds as though he's eating something. "He said I wasn't respecting him. Said I couldn't see his boundaries. Said-"

"Gabriel," Castiel says, "Gabriel. Calm down."

The phone stops ringing, and starts up again immediately afterwards.

Across the booth, Dean looks up.

"Trouble?" he mouths.

Castiel flaps a hand.

"And he said I couldn't control myself, you know? And it would be funny, except I really, really can't. I see him, and I have to - I just have to - ugh. I - I can't describe it. I mean, he was really, really cute, and then he was really, really friendly, and then he made me laugh, and we went to the gym together, and - and I did yoga with him. _Yoga_. Does that mean nothing, now?"

"I'm coming over," Castiel says.

"You're at the office."

"I'll pull some overtime. It'll work out." Castiel throws the card into his bag, along with what remains of the sandwich. Grabbing his beanie from the sideboard, he shoves it over his head, and then he remembers that he is, in fact, wearing a headpiece.

"Hey. Cas. What's goin' on?"

Dean is staring at him, terrifyingly concerned. Half a lettuce leaf falls out of his roll, and onto the desk.

Gabriel lets out a little whine.

"I've got to go," Castiel says. "Cover for me."

"What? Why? You're comin' back, right?"

"Yes, yes, sure. Gabriel's having - boyfriend difficulties. I'll be half an hour. I just - need to check if he's alright."

Dean sits bolt upright. His glasses slip down his nose.

"Gabriel's boyfriend? What about him?"

"Apparently, Gabriel wasn't respecting his boundaries."

Dean snorts. "You can say that again," he mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Listen, about his boyfriend - there's probably something I should-"

"Goodbye, Dean," Castiel says.

"Cas, wait-"

Dean's hand is on his arm. Dean's fingers are curling into the fabric of his jacket. Dean is standing a couple of inches away from him.

"Are you - comin' back tomorrow? 'Cause this phone's just gonna keep ringing."

"I'll face the consequences," Castiel says.

"Get a room, love birds!" Charlie yodels, over the top of her partition.

Castiel has never been so red in all of his life.

"We're not," Dean says, "love birds, or - whatever, so, just-"

And they're not. Naturally.

"Goodbye," Castiel says, again, and turns around, and walks away, and leaves Dean there, standing behind him.

He walks down the stairs, and out of the building, and onto the street. There is a red car, in front of him. There is also a blue car. If this was a movie, there would be a taxi cab.

There isn't one.

 

Gabriel is lying on his sofa, when Castiel arrives at the door. He can see him through the window. There's a crack in the curtains.

Gabriel's got a hand over his eyes. He's sprawled out on his back, with a pillow on his stomach, and a pillow on his legs, and a pillow on each arm. He appears to be transforming into a kind of purple marshmallow.

Castiel knocks on the window.

"Gabriel. Open the door."

Gabriel doesn't move.

Castiel knocks again.

Gabriel's form twitches. He rolls onto one side, and squints at the glass. His hair has fallen down onto his forehead. He looks pasty.

Castiel waves.

 

"What happened?"

Gabriel clings onto the bag of gummy bears like it's a safety net. Castiel can't blame him.

"I don't know! We were just talking, and then he turned pale and started on at me - and the next thing I know, he's out the door!"

Castiel sighs. "What were you talking about?"

"I can't even remember! He - he was talking about - Dean, and how - he had this, this massive crush, and how cute and romantic it was! And then I was saying yeah, it's the same with Cas, he's totally hung up over this guy-"

"What."

It's supposed to be a question. It doesn't come out like that.

"Shut up, this is part of my story - oh, come on, it's obvious, you like someone, whenever we go out you're all - you know what? Never mind, okay, plot. So, Sam sits back, and he says - he says do you ever want something like that, Gabe? And I say, I thought we already had it. And he says no, like, really romantic. Really, _really_ romantic."

Gabriel blows out from between his teeth.

"And then?" Castiel prompts.

"And then - and then..." Gabriel trails off. He doesn't seem inclined to finish. His hands have fisted, around the bag.

"Gabriel," Castiel says.

"And then I ask him - if he'd like something _more_ romantic. And he says. like what? And he's looking at me, and I'm looking at him, and it feels - intense, y'know? Harps, cherubs, all that jazz. Like it's meant to be, or something." Gabriel snorts. "Look how that turned out."

"Gabriel. What do you say?"

Gabriel looks down at his fingers, and breathes in. "I ask him - if - if he'd ever consider marrying me."

Castiel blinks. "Congratulations," he says.

Gabriel springs to his feet, hands flailing wildly. Castiel dives backwards, for fear of having his nose broken.

"No, not _congratulations_! He's _broken up with me_!"

"Did he actually tell you that?"

"He didn't have to tell me! He left! He couldn't get much plainer!"

"Have you tried calling him?"

Gabriel spins on his heel, and freezes. "No."

"Are you going to?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you should."

Gabriel throws his hands up in the air. "Why do I bother?"

"I've got to get back," Castiel says. "Dean's covering for me. I can't leave him."

Standing, he brushes down the creases in his trousers, and adjusts the beanie. "Call Sam," he says.

Gabriel nods. Then, he looks up.

"Wait," he says. "Dean who?"

"It doesn't matter," Castiel says. "He doesn't need me, anyway."

 

_5._

Castiel is not called to the management office. He has never been there before. According to Charlie, it has a brown door, with a frosted glass plate. The management office is two floors above the ordinary office. You have to ride in an elevator to reach it.

Castiel may or may not half-fall inside his cubicle. He doesn't think that it matters.

"Please hold," Dean says, and slams the phone down.

"Have I-"

"You're fine, man."

"How long-"

"Thirty nine minutes and - " Dean consults his watch. " - forty seven seconds. You're good."

Castiel heaves a sigh. "Thank you," he says.

On the other side of the desk, Charlie winks. 

Castiel sits down. 

"Err - yeah - okay. Fine. It's - it's cool. You know - if you need anything, I'm here. You know. It's - err - yeah." Dean scratches the back of his neck. "I'm your guy."

"Yes," Castiel says. "You are."

He puts on the headpiece. The phone is ringing. It's always ringing.

He can feel Dean's eyes on him. Dean's left elbow is beside his right elbow.

If he wanted to, he could reach across, and put his hand on Dean's arm. He could run his fingertips along the inside of Dean's wrist, and lock their fingers together.

"Hello, Singer consolidated," he says, "how may I help you?"

 _"Yeah,"_ the girl says. _"Uh - "_

 

There's a bumblebee sweet in his drawer, alongside his stationery set, and a pair of white plastic scissors.

 _Sweeter than honey,_ the tag informs him, in looping, curling font. 

"Yes," Dean says, "sir, but I can assure you, plugging it in is the right route to go down."

Castiel stares at the tag. He stares. He stares. He can't stop looking at it. He stares.

He takes off his earpiece. He places it on the desk. He wipes his hands on his jeans.

His palms are sweating.

"I don't have your phone number," Castiel says.

"Yes, sir," Dean is saying, "I can assure you that - that your purchase is our top priority, and that we'll do everything we can to get a replacement to you as soon as possible. Yes. Yes. Thank you."

The stutter is where Castiel spoke.

"I hope you enjoy your cookies," Dean says, and pulls his headpiece down. "What?"

Castiel unwraps the sweet. It's not a sweet, so much as a sphere of chocolate. For that particular bumblebee to fly, it would have to have very powerful wings indeed.

"Your number," he says. "I don't have it."

Dean nods. "Yeah," he says. "You don't."

Once in. Once out. Once in.

"Can I have it?"

Once out.

"My number?"

Once in. Once out.

"Yes. Your number. Can I have your number?"

Once in.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, hang on, just - shit, where do we keep the paper?"

Once out.

Dean yanks open a desk drawer, and scrabbles around inside.

"I don't know," Castiel says. "I have scissors. And a pen."

Dean doesn't appear to hear.

"And two cards. From the same person. Isn't that a strange coincidence? That there could be someone in the department who liked me as much as that. Who spent all of their time with me. Who had the opportunity to put things in our desk."

"Sure," Dean says. "Ah - here you go."

Castiel nods, and takes it. "Thank you," he says.

There are forty three days to go until Christmas - and, for a fraction of a second, Dean's fingers brush against his.

 

Castiel goes to Gabriel's house, that night.

Gabriel is sitting on his doorstep. He has a blanket over his knees, and is surrounded by chocolate wrappers. His phone is in his hand.

A car drives by. It looks black, in the shadow.

"I said that I would," Gabriel says. "I know I did."

"No, you didn't." Castiel sits down beside him. Gabriel's shoulder scrapes his own. "You don't have to. You should. But you don't have to."

Gabriel looks across at him, and smiles. "When did you get so wise, Cassy?"

Castiel's hands are laced together, atop his knees. "When I fell in love," he says.

 

They go inside, and they watch old movies. Gabriel rests his head on Castiel's shoulder. 

"I love you. You know that?" 

Castiel nods. On screen, Julie Andrews is singing. She's flickering. 

"Yes," Castiel says. "I do." 

Gabriel chuckles, and slaps his thigh. "Idiot." 

"Jerk." 

Gabriel yawns, once. "You gonna hit the sack?"

Castiel shakes his head. The television blares. 

"Okay," Gabriel says. "Okay." 

Castiel smiles. 

 

_A text message conversation that took place between Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, beginning at 02:03 : -_

**C:** Hello

 **D:** hi

 **C:** You're up early

 **D:** couldn't sleep

 **D:** wat about u

 **C:** You can be bothered to type about and sleep but not what and you?

 **D:** blow me grammar cop

 **D:** cas u there

 **D:** cas dont make me ask twice

 **D:** cas so help me i will come 2 ur house

 **C:** You don't know where I live

 **D:** ill find out

 **C:** No you won't

 **D:** i kno gabriel

 **D:** cas

 **D:** cas?

 **C:** how do you know gabriel

 **D:** my brother

 **C:** sam?

 **D:** sam

 **C:** oh my god

 **D:** ur txt stndrd is dropping

 **C:** Standard

 **D:** shut up

 **C:** No

 **D:** cas u there

 **D:** srsly

 **D:** cas

 **D:** cas is someone with u

 **D:** damn it cas im running out f credit

 **D:** castiel?

 

_\+ 1._

On Saturday morning, at 02:09, Dean Winchester receives a text message.

Castiel knows this. He knows this, because at 02:08 he sent it.

At 02:08 he was wearing pyjamas, and lying on the floor beside the bathtub. The tiles were digging into his back. There was a cup of tea on the tub's rim. The tub was empty. It had just run out. The cup of tea was half-empty. It had been full.

Gabriel was in the next room. He was pacing. Castiel could hear him.

At 02:09, Dean Winchester receives a text message.

At 02:10, Castiel receives a phone call, which he picks up on the third ring. It doesn't help to be too eager.

Gabriel continues to walk; back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. If he's not careful, he'll the wear the carpet out.

"Bee mine?" Dean says. "For real?"

Castiel shrugs. "It worked, didn't it?"

Dean exhales. "You got me there," he says. "Guess you found out, huh?"

Castiel considers reaching up for the tea. He decides against it.

"Yes," he says.

There is a crackling. Dean might be sitting down. He might be pouring himself a drink. He might be taking off his overly formal suit, and sprinting down the road towards Cas's apartment. He might be calling Sam. He might be calling Gabriel.

"I'm sorry," Dean is saying."I'm - I'm sorry, alright? If I'd known you would've been mad, I would've stopped. I swear. I just - I couldn't - I mean, come on, man. Sam knew." In the background, something buzzes.

"I kind of figured," Castiel says. Then: - "I'm at Gabriel's."

"What?"

"I'm at Gabriel's," Castiel says. "If you'd like to come over. Which I want."

"Wh-"

Castiel hangs up.

Dean's phone was running out of credit, anyway.

Castiel stares at the phone screen. _Dean_ , it says. _Call ended._

Castiel goes downstairs, and opens the door. It's cold. There aren't any stars. Supposedly, there should be stars. They should be shining. They should be illuminating everything. There should be a band.

Of course, there is none of this.

Castiel sits on the step. The street is quiet. Somewhere, a dog is barking, and somebody is laughing, and a car is driving past, engine howling.

 

Dean arrives ten minutes later. The motorbike draws up, and he hops off. Its lights flicker down the alleyway, before it grows dark, and quiet.

He isn't wearing a helmet. 

"Hey," Dean says.

"You're wearing leathers," Castiel says.

It's all he can think of.

Dean jogs over. He has gloves on. He slips one off, and sticks it into his jacket pocket. The other one is stuck, apparently. Dean looks down at it, and cusses. He isn't meeting Castiel's eyes.

"You manned both desks," Castiel says, and Dean nods. He's still looking down. He's standing in front of a motorbike, and he's wearing leathers, and he's painfully, deathly silent. "I think I may be more than a little in love with you."

He did not intend for it to come out like that.

Dean gapes.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says. "I understand that this may come as a surprise. Do you need to sit down?"

Dean shakes his head. "No. No, I'm - this - "

Dean steps forward.

"I know that I'm not the most - most - interesting person. I understand that. But - "

Castiel doesn't get the chance to finish.

 

There are forty two days until Christmas, and Dean Winchester is kissing Castiel. They are standing on Castiel's brothers doorstep, and Dean is kissing him, and Dean's hands are on his chest, and Dean's hands are on his shoulders.

Dean tastes of chewing gum. He does not taste of mint.

"Dean," Castiel says.

"Cas," Dean replies. "Can I call you Cas? For real?"

Castiel nods, quickly. "Yes. Yes, you can."

"Cas," Dean says.

His eyes are big. He has long, black lashes. He has speckles of freckles on his cheeks.

"Kiss me again," Castiel says. 

Dean does.

The window is flung open. There is a bang. Castiel turns around, and looks up. Dean's chest is rising and falling at the rate of knots.

"For God's sake!" Gabriel yells. "I'm heartbroken, here!"

"Shut it," Dean calls out. The words echo. 

Castiel laughs.

He laughs, and laughs, until he cannot stop.

"Honey," he snorts. "Seriously?" 

Dean flushes. "Worked, didn't it?" 

Castiel straightens. "Yeah," he says. "It did." 

There are forty two days until Christmas, and Dean Winchester is kissing Castiel. They are standing on Castiel's brothers doorstep, and Dean is kissing him, and Dean's hands are on his chest, and Dean's hands are on his shoulders.

"Yeah," Dean says, "it did. Sap." 

Once in. 

"I'm a sap? You and your - your cheesy bee puns." Castiel wipes his eye. 

The window slams shut. 

Dean shakes his head. "Man," he says. "I can't believe that worked." 

"Neither can I," Castiel replies. "Can we go to bed, now?" 

"Subtle as a sledgehammer," Dean says. 

Once in.

"You love me really." 

Once out. 

Dean's head shakes, again.

"Maybe," he says. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

Castiel smiles. "I do hate a cliché," he replies.


End file.
